


You don’t know it yet (but I’m the cupid of things)

by PersonyPepper



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, BDSM spanking, Bard Jaskier | Dandelion, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Falling In Love, Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Good With Children, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Still a Witcher, Good Parent Jaskier | Dandelion, I'm also thinking about a painslut jaskier?, It's official, Jaskier | Dandelion Being a Feral Bastard, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mild angst but mostly fluff, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent Jaskier | Dandelion, Rough Sex, Subspace, Teacher Jaskier | Dandelion, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Under-negotiated Kink, but like, painslut jaskier, single dad jaskier, soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:01:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24797353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersonyPepper/pseuds/PersonyPepper
Summary: He'd been a young bard, filled with wanderlust. Falling in love and out of it, only to end with broken hearts, and on two occasions, a child. He'd let himself settle into the next town kind enough to let him stay, welcoming them instead of chasing him and his "bastard children" away and meets the White Wolf that'd saved the town. They fuck. He leaves. He comes back each year after that and slowly, Jaskier finds himself falling in love again.Or, Did someone ask for a fluffy, multi-chaptered single dad jaskier fic who not-so-slowly falls in love with geralt? With smut?? No? Well... shame, because I'm writing it.Updates every couple days!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 130
Kudos: 232





	1. Come devil come, she sang, call out my name

The witcher’s been passing through this town before Jaskier had even been born, apparently. The bard takes a sip of his ale before going back to scratching away at his notebook, eagerly writing each detail down. White hair to his shoulders, bright against his clothes so dark—they’d dubbed him  _ Gwynbleidd. _ They haven’t seen him in years, Jaskier would’ve known if he’d passed by after he’d moved here. No, there hasn’t been a single witcher (or monster) through these parts in the half decade, Jaskier’s lived here.

The children trip over themselves as they run through the tavern and out the door— “Alia, dear,” he calls after them, barely glancing away from his parchment, “be careful! And take care of Julien!” She yells back something akin to  _ “Yes, father, _ ” the formal title used only when she’s being sarcastic, as she takes her brother’s hand into hers before running out of sight. They’re off to watch the stars—the clouds are clear after months, the spring season filled with humidity and heat broken by occasional showers. Summer is setting into the heart of the year, and the festivities are being planned, as they do each year, celebrating the witcher’s work and awaiting his return once again. Jaskier makes a brief sketch of his un-met muse battling a striga, humming a melody already as others chime in to tell stories of their esteemed white wolf.

He’s written songs, too many to count, praising the infamous Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf had saved the small town from a rogue group of werewolves, gone mad with hunger and uncontrolled transformation.

“And you should have seen him, Jaskier,” Old man Amos’s voice creaks before he breaks off into coughs, his body shaking with them, “twin swords on his back, drenched in blood, hair matted with it and his eyes—” 

Someone interrupts him, a booming “As black as night, herself!”

He sounds dangerous, powerful, and gentle and kind. 

As he stares into the pitch-black eyes he’s drawn on his page, Jaskier can’t help but think he sounds beautiful.

He’s quickly brought out of his own thoughts when he hears Alia’s squeal and Julien calling  _ Papa _ loud enough for the room to echo his voice. His neck snaps up so quickly, his body tense, ready to take on whoever’s hurting his children—only to be met with Julien sitting around a man’s neck, Alia swinging from his arm, both of them grinning with glee. 

The man dons armour coated with grime and blood and twin swords are sheathed on his back, Julien sitting in front of them, his short legs dangling from the man’s shoulders. And his eyes—his eyes are _as_ _black as night herself._

He’s worried (and slightly proud) of the absolute lack of self-preservation his children have, hanging from a  _ witcher _ . An obviously tired, post-hunt witcher.

“Alia, come here, Julien, get off the poor witcher’s neck—Amos! An ale for our witcher, please.” The stunned silence of the tavern quickly dissipates into action as cheers for the White Wolf’s return rings in the air; Frederick pulls out a chair for the witcher to sit down and Geralt does so after gently setting both Alia and Julien down, Jaskier’s kids running to climb up onto the tavern bench to sit next to Geralt, brimming with questions. “Now, now!” Jaskier scolds, though a smile lights up on his face, “Let the poor witcher eat and rest, I’m sure he’ll answer your questions tomorrow.” Julien crawls into Jaskier’s lap, Alia still fidgeting with excitement.

The townsfolk grow louder, asking Geralt why he hadn’t come in so long, what he’d just hunted, whose house he was to stay in, the measly four tavern rooms reserved for the festivities—Jaskier sets Julien into Alia’s lap, climbing up onto the bench. “Silence! Even my children understand to leave the witcher be, show some courtesy for your friend of humanity! Give us a plate of dinner, Amos!

The tavern quiets down, but by no means silent as they speak in hushed whispers about their hero returning home, musing as to why he’s returned after so long, still sat circled around his table, where his notebook lays open, forgotten as Julien climbs back into his lap and Alia looks at the witcher with unabashed curiosity.

Oh, Jaskier thinks, oh, he is  _ gorgeous _ . 

“Sorry about that, we just—thought you’d died, having not visited in so long and you’ve made it just in time for the celebration, too!” A snarl pulls at the man’s lips as Jaskier’s voice grows a little too loud and a little too shrill. “Your heightened senses, especially with your potion still in your veins—apologies.” He looks a little surprised that Jaskier knows of all this, eyebrows raised the smallest amount alongside his grunt. “They tell stories about you here. You’re a hero, been around far longer than I have, of course—Julien, Julien, no my darling, we don’t touch people without their permission, do we?” His son’s little hand freezes from where he’s leant over the table, his little ravioli-sized fist reaching for Geralt’s silver hair.

He looks back at him. “But papa, he’s so cool!” Fuck, he loves his children, the witcher is still  _ bloody _ for goodness sakes, not a single amount of self preservation.

“He really is, but you still have to respect him—”

“It’s fine.” Jaskier looks up at him to meet pupiless eyes trained on him. “It’s fine.”

The bard nods, “Alright, but be careful, alright? Don’t tug, remember how it hurts when Alia accidentally catches at your hair when she combes it?” His boy nods and gently runs his fingers through Geralt’s silver hair, barely on the wrong side of clean, splatters of blood drying . How he manages to fight with it so long is beyond Jaskier’s understanding. 

The witcher digs into his food as soon as Amos sets it on the table, barely flinching as the man breaks into a cough as soon as he opens his mouth to talk to the witcher. Jaskier runs his fingers through Julien’s hair as he curls into his doublet, afraid of the loud noises of the old man’s coughs. “It’s alright, dear, he’s only sick, alright?” They’ve had this conversation a million times, but Julien’s still rather fearful of Amos, the man’s left eye opaquely white, right deep brown color, nearly black and surrounded by burst blood vessels. He’s beloved by the town, though Julien’s scared of him worse than he is of the dark. He thanks Amos for the food, promising to pay for it, only for the old man to wave a hand and coughs out an  _ on the house _ before he leaves, his hand idly waving as if to wave away Jaskier’s words. 

The bard chuckles, turning back to the witcher, who’s still devouring his food— “Better bring him another plate, old man! And two honey cakes for Alia and Julien, please!”

“Papa?” Alia tugs at his sleeve, bright blue eyes staring up at him, filled with hope. Melitele, whatever she’s about to ask for, he knows he’s already going to say yes. “Can Mister Geralt stay at our house?” He hears a table chair scrape behind him.

“No! He’s to house in mine, as has been tradition, Jaskier, you can’t—” 

“Stop being a weasel, Julia, we all know you just want to fu—” two pairs of bright blue eyes stare up at him, “have a playdate with him!” The witcher squints at him as if to ask  _ really? Playdate? _ Jaskier shrugs in apology, he’s a father, what can he say?

“Playdate?! Julia, let Mister Witcher decide who he wants to play with, you whore!” Alia yells, her face turned up towards here, expressions fierce. He shrugs again when the witcher squints at him harder.

“Win some, lose some,” he mumbles. Geralt seems to respect that and wordlessly goes back to his food with grunt, chugging his ale before swiping a hand over his mouth.

Alia chatters, her mouth haphazardly cleaned of mooncake syrup. Julien’s face—and Jaskier’s doublet—are both lost causes. At least the witcher doesn’t seem to mind their sticky fingers, Julien’s small hand wrapped around Geralt’s right pointer finger, his body over Jaskier’s shoulder, drooling and half-asleep, Alia’s hand joined with the witcher’s, swinging it animatedly as she tells their hero about how she once defeated the monster under her bed,  _ a hideous thing of green and purple and yellow and rainbow,  _ only recently.

Jaskier muffles a laugh as Geralt gives her tips on how to fight it if it dares come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of free time and some inspiration! This one's gonna be mostly fluff and romance; have fun <3
> 
> let me know what you thought of it! Title from "Farewell Wanderlust" by The Amazing Devil.
> 
> Comments are much appreciated, lovelies! <333


	2. All the boys, they were saying they were into it (such a pretty face, on a pretty neck)

“That bedroom’s yours for—” Jaskier shrugs, as if he doesn’t quite care for how long Geralt stays. Truly, he doesn’t, he trusts the witcher’ll be staying for the week at the least. “I’ll be sleeping with the kids, pray Julia doesn’t storm in and drag you out; I’ll have to set Marlon on her tail if the,” his mouths the word  _ bitch _ , “tries.” Geralt hums in mild amusement as he spots the cat on the windowsill, her fur raised as she hisses at the witcher. Jaskier chuckles as the witcher’s lips draw back, barely containing instinct as Marlon yowls before running out the door past them. “Or not,” Jaskier mutters, adjusting his grip on Julien.

Geralt shrugs, Alia asleep in his arms. He glances into the room, “the bed’s big enough,”  _ for the two of us _ is left unsaid.

“Figured you’d want your space—” 

“No.” Jaskier raises an eyebrow, a smirk forming on his face. “It’s—” Geralt’s eyes tightent, as if words are particularly difficult for him, “It’s fine. We can share.”

The bard’s face splits into a grin, “Alright, I’ll just put these two bed and we can,” he winks, “fall into bed together.” 

The witcher rolls his eyes, returned to their amber color, without missing a beat as he follows Jaskier the short hallways past the kitchen, and opens the door at the end of the corridor. He gently lays Julien into his bed, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. Washing his face risks waking him, which guarantees a tantrum and he  _ really _ doesn’t want to deal with that right now. He tucks him in before taking Alia from Geralt, settling her into her bed. Her eyes flutter open, a small crease between her eyebrows that he can’t help but kiss and smooth his thumb over. “Papa?” She asks quietly, eyes cracked open just barely. Jaskier knows he’ll never tire of being called that, no matter how strange it was at first. “Yes, my love?” 

“Is Mister Geralt going to tell us a bedtime story?” Jaskier smiles and glances at Geralt before turning back to his daughter. 

“Not tonight, my love, but I’ll wrestle a story out of him yet, don’t worry.” She smiles and shuffles in under her covers, eyes dragging closed despite her attempts to keep them open, and mumbles a  _ goodnight, Mister Witcher _ too quiet for Jaskier to hear, but they both know it’s fallen upon the ears it’s been intended for.

Geralt, to Jaskier’s surprises, mumbles back a goodnight before slipping out, his voice so deep the bard can hear it in his own chest. Jaskier places one final kiss on Alia’s forehead before making sure the curtain’s open just a crack in case Julien wakes, and closes the door gently behind him. He turns to Geralt, hand on his hips as he looks the witcher from his bloody hair to his dirt-caked pants. “No offense, Mister Ger—” he pauses, a flush working its way up his neck—, “Fuck, I’m turning into  _ everyone’s _ parent, Melitele save me. Come on, Geralt, bathroom’s this way,” he waves towards another room adjacent to the childrens’ bedroom.

~~ 

He pours the last of the warm buckets of water into the tub, probably not hot enough for the witcher’s liking, but the man looks like he’d much rather get cleaned up and go to bed rather than wait for the water to heat up properly.

Jaskier turns to face the witcher, only to be met by an expanse of pale skin, back littered with scars. He lets out a low whistle, “Oh my, is this a seduction, Geralt? Because you don’t even need to try, really, you’re like a sexy…” the last of his brain goes missing as he glances at Geralt’s naked arse, an unintentional whimper falling from his lips, “goose.” Fuck. No one had been able to render him so helplessly speechless, not since he’d dated fucking Valdo Marx. And here he was, calling Gerlt a sexy  _ goose _ of all things, him! A bard!

He swallows and meets Geralt’s eyes, not daring to look away from them as the witcher turns around because oh, that neck leads to those shoulders, and those shoulders to that chests and—gods, is that a fucking gash? He stares at the gruesome wound that bleeds idly; Jaskier fights a retch. Geralt’s smirk turns to a frown as he glances to where Jaskier had just been staring, looking at the gash as if he’d forgotten of its existence or hadn’t noticed it in the first place. “It’ll heal before I finish with the bath—”

“Yes, but we don't want it to heal badly, now do we,” he pats the stool that Jaskier sits on when he washes Julien and Alia, “here, sit.” He rummages through the shelf under the sink for the health kit he keeps meticulously well-stocked. He squats in front of Geralt, the witcher still painfully naked, though it doesn’t bother him, concentrated on the bloody wound as he is. “I’m going to have to stitch this, my love,” he mumbles, getting out a needle and thread, “you can hold onto my arm and close your eyes if—” he looks up at amber eyes, Geralt’s body shaking in quiet lighter and Jaskier realizes he’s slipped into parental mode again. He looks back down to hide the way his glare softens into fondness at the unguarded, mirthful look in Geralt’s eyes. “Alright, alright, hold still.”

~~ 

The wound is healed by the time Geralt steps out of the tub, his body clean of grime and blood and his hair reverted back to its shiny silver. Jaskier washes his hands of the last of the shampoo left on them and hands Geralt a plain black tunic and with black pants, laid out from the witcher’s bag, of course. He can’t help that his own cock is half hard in his breeches, the man’s fucking gorgous and he realizes why Julia had wanted him just so badly.

“See you in bed,” he leaves him with a flirty grin as Geralt begins to dress, fearing for his sanity and pride in case he lets loose  _ anything _ about a goose around the witcher again.

~~

The bed dips as Geralt gets into it, Jaskier already settled onto his side. A long tunic covers him down to his upper thighs—sometimes, he wonders if he should tell Amos that he’s no small man, but by no means wears a shirt big enough to fit two strigas, but going to bed in an old Victorian nightgown-esque shirt isn't the worst that's happened to him. 

He blows out the candle after Geralt's settled in and turns to the Witcher, who can no doubt see him much better than Jaskier can see him in the full moonlight. "I know you're tired," Jaskier whispers, "but I wanted to thank you. For dealing with my kids’ energy, for one,” he chuckles before continuing. “The whole town's ecstatic you're here, even that old bitch Julia who hates everything from children to chocolates, how, I'm not sure but I'm quite convinced she's cursed, or perhaps she's a witch, did your medallion vibrate around her? I should pay closer attention, you can never be too safe with crazy old hags living in young bodies, one must take certain measures, and—"

"She's human. And you're welcome." The Witcher's eyes glow slightly under the moonlight, and narrow into a squint, eyebrows furrowing as if he's thinking about if he should say something or not. "Your kids," Jaskier blinks up at him, waiting for him to finish, “they're very... cute." The bard can't help the grin that works itself onto his face.

“Thank you, they obviously take after me," he jokes. Geralt grunts in reply before lapsing into silence. Jaskier gathers his inane confidence. 

"Would you be opposed to having se—"

"About that sexy goose comment—" they both pause as they wait for the other to finish. Jaskier speaks up first, though he now actively wants the bed to swallow him whole, all of his inane confidence disappointed. "The goose comment—it was a compliment. I just meant you have a nice… neck." Fuck the bed, he wants to be sucked into Melitele’s sweet cunt and never have to see the light of day again. Luckily, Geralt only looks at him with the same amusement, his chest moving in silent laughter. 

"You're welcome to… kiss it. Kiss me, or not—" Fuck, is Geralt just messing around? it doesn't sound like it, sounds a lot more like an awkward flirt and an obvious invitation.

"Oh fuck yes," Jaskier breathes in reply. 

~~ 

To jaskiers very, very pleasant surprise, Geralt's a bit rough in bed. Which is understandable, Witchers mostly lay with whores, and whores are usually none too gentle by default, but as Geralt pushes his head down farther, forcing him to take more of the man’s (rather  _ excessive _ ) length, the bard thinks it’s less the whores’ fault and more that the witcher rather likes it rough.

Jaskier gags around him, tongue dragging over the little skin he can reach, his mouth stuffed full. He sucks on Geralt’s cock like he was  _ made _ for it, slobbering, kissing, reveling in the taste, and Geralt, poor Geralt grits his teeth to bite away a moan as if he sorely agrees. Jaskier forces himself to relax as Geralt thrusts up into his mouth, mumbling, "Fuck bard, the throat you have on you," the lewd sound of Jaskier’s mouth being fucked filling the air.

His thrusts become harsher and more shallow, picking up speed; Jaskier trails a hand over the witcher’s stomach to the man's right nipple and flicks it before pinching it harshly—and Geralt spills into his mouth, lips pressed together as if he’s desperately trying not to make a sound, eyes wide as he stills with pleasure. Apparently, big bad witchers like a little pain play, too. 

Jaskier doesn't waste a drop, licking his lips after cleaning off Geralt's cock before he’s being pulled up into a bruising kiss. They lean back onto the bed, Jaskier climbing over Geralt and straddling his hips while the witcher's legs still hang off the bed from the end of it. "Fuck," he mumbles onto the kiss, a high whine leaving his lips as he ruts his clothed cock onto Geralt’s stomach, the witcher’s tongue still licking into him, tasting the last of his own spend. "Geralt, please, please, I need to cum," Godsdamn, when was the last time someone had made him so needy? So desperate to be controlled and owned so much so that he wanted Geralt to control his orgasm, that he wanted to be given permission to peak? 

"Cum for me jaskier, Gods,” Geralt commands, “you're so good, cum for me—" the bard throws his head back, using the last of his brain as he clasps a hand over his mouth, a yell forcing it's way past his lips as he spends into his smallclothes, leaving him a mess. He collapses against Geralt, still shaking a bit from the aftermath of his orgasm, his brain fuzzy. The witcher holds him for a little while longer before he idly feels his smalls being tugged down his hips, Geralt leaving the room and returning with a wet towel to wipe Jaskier clean before he's pulled back into a gentle embrace. "Fuck," he swears again, Geralt humming in agreement as he presses a brief kiss to Jaskiers lips. 

That night, Jaskier rests his head, content to be wrapped in Geralt’s arms, feeling a sense of security and safety he hasn't felt in a long time. He knows full well it isn’t just because he’s wrapped in the arms of one of most powerful beings alive, but because trusts the witcher already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier's fallin' hard and he's fallin' /fast/, baby! He's also a really bad flirt (he takes very much after me on that one, sorry guys).
> 
> Lemme know what you thought of it! Thank you guys for reading, your comments make my day! <333
> 
> Title from "Kiwi" by Harry Styles, banging fucking song.
> 
> My tumblr's @persony-pepper, come say hi! <33 I rb witcher things and take geraskier writing prompts of all kinds.


	3. Cos when it’s cold (I’ll wrap my scarf around you)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Jaskier stirs, shifting before blinking awake. And then promptly muffles his yelp as he jerks up onto his elbows, a small humanoid shadow creature statued beside his bed. Jaskier blinks, trying to force his eyes to adjust to the dim moonlight. Julien stands, his hands curled around his teddy as he looks up at Jaskier. “Fu— Julien?” The boy blinks up at him owlishly before climbing up onto the bed and kneeling on it, still facing Jaskier.

“No, Papa! It’s me, Julien!” His voice is hushed, and Jaskier hopes it’s quiet enough to leave the witcher undisturbed, though he groans internally at how  _ peppy _ his son sounds at this unholy time of night. “Not Fa-Julien!” He giggles slightly. Unfortunately, he’s inherited Jaskier’s brand of humor, apparently. The bard tucks an errant brown curl behind the boy’s ear, leaning down as he whispers.

“Of course, I’d know my big boy, anywhere—” he gently taps Julien on the nose with the pad of his pointer finger. “How about we go get you some water, use the potty, and get you back to bed?"

Julien’s smiley face tugs itself down into a petulant pout. “Nooo,” he whispers, crawling onto Jaskier’s chest, pushing the bard to half lean against the headboard. He runs his hands through the hair on Jaskier’s chest, tugging at it ruthlessly without warning. Gods fuck, his children are  _ sadists _ ; it’d been Alia’s favourite passtime when she’d been Julien’s age, too. “I want cuddle,” he mumbles, staring up at Jaskier, “From you  _ and _ Mister Witcher.” It is  _ entirely _ cute the way he says  _ Mister Witcher. _ So what if his kid’s a sadist? He’s fucking adorable enough to get away with it.

“Baby, Mister Geralt’s tired, he fought a  _ giant _ barghest, so big it could swallow me, and Alia, and you” he drags out his words as he lists them out, Julien’s eyes widening with each mention, “and Marlon, and even Mx Teddy!” Julien’s lips part in a gasp, a scandalized  _ no _ leaving his lips as he holds his stuffed toy closer.

“Yeah! He told me about it himself, how he managed it with just his bare fists. Don’t you get tired after helping Alia fight the troll under her bed?” He runs his fingers through his boy’s hair, glancing at Geralt, eyes closed and asleep on his chest, as Julien nods up at Jaskier again. “Well, Mister Witcher’s fought a monster, too, don’t you think he deserves to sleep?”

Julien seems to think about this for a bit, his small hands still curled into Jaskier’s chest hair, the rest of the bard’s body covered under the blanket. Suddenly, his eyes light up as he snaps his attention back to Jaskier. Oh fuck, he’s going to lose this conversation, too. 

“But Mister Geralt can cuddle me  _ and _ sleep!” He shouts it this time, and Jaskier winces, glancing at the poor man beside him.

“But Julien—” Jaskier starts, only to have a pale arm comes to drape over Julien’s back, muscle rippling with the movement as the boy giggles, his body being dragged down between them. An amber eye cracks open to look up at Jaskier, only to slip closed again when he’s determined that the bard seems fine with it, if a little shocked.

“Goodnight, Julien,” Geralt rumbles, his voice deeper, gruff with sleep. Julien doesn’t reply, back to his quiet self and cuddles into the witcher’s chest, seemingly content enough to fall asleep again. The bard pulls out a fur blanket from the nightstand, kept for these situations (he found out long ago that his preferred sleeping arrangement, sleeping naked, and being a father don’t go together without a plan), and makes sure Julien’s strictly above the blankets before tugging a medium-sized fur over the boy’s body, watching fondly as he nuzzles in closer, tucking his head under Geralt’s chin.

Jaskier sighs and finds himself a comfortable position, taking one last look at his now-asleep boy and the witcher, who snores just barely, and falls back asleep.

~~

Come morning, he’s in bed with Julien curled up on his chest, Alia’s hair tickling over Jaskier’s face, and a witcher nowhere in sight. Jaskier can’t be bothered, running his fingers through Alia’s hair, his heart ridiculously fond as she shuffles into his palm in her sleep. Surely the big, bad witcher can fend for himself for ten more minutes. He hears him shuffling around in the kitchen, what he’s doing, Jaskier’s not sure of, but nothing can coax him away from this moment.

Melitele, they just grow up so fast, don’t they? He’d watched Alia stumble her first walk, Julien still a newborn babe in his arm as he’d used the other to wrap around his daughter when her balance had given out. Now, Julien’s  _ talking _ , a quiet boy filled with curiosity at the age of three, Alia at a whopping  _ five _ . If they grow a  _ second _ older, Jaskier thinks he’ll surely die— he can’t handle it. His babies shuffle even closer, as if they’re not pressed against him completely, sensing his turmoil. There’s a quiet knock on the door before Geralt pokes his head in.

“Breakfast?” He asks, hair thrown up in the messiest do he’s ever seen, some of the strands falling to frame his face. Utterly fucking gorgous. Some part of Jaskier’s mind (probably the hopelessly romantic, bardic one) supplies a brief  _ as gorgeous as the day we met _ , as if he hadn’t met Geralt just yesterday. The thought brings a grin to his face, utterly content.

“Coming,” he whispers back. Geralt disappears back out the door with a scrunch of his nose and a grunt, leaving him to deal with a drooling Julien and a slightly snoring Alia. Jaskier slides out from underneath Julien, the boy’s arms reaching up in his sleep, only to settle as he clings to Alia, tucked back in with the soft furs.

~~

Breakfast is a quiet affair of Jaskier drinking his morning coffee. The stuff used to have him buzzing with unpleasant energy when he’d been younger, the rest of his pupils swearing by it for their night-long study sessions; the bard hadn’t gotten the hype till he’d had two children, their combined energy overpowering Jaskier’s own, which in itself, is exorbitantly high.

He’s ever grateful to Geralt as the man cracks two eggs into a pan over the fire stove, the scent of strips of pork frying beside it is  _ heavenly. _

“Morning,” Geralt rumbles, somewhat hesitant as if he hasn’t said the word in a while.

Jaskier grunts in return, swinging the last of his coffee back before lining his cup with coffee cloth and pouring more boiling water over the beans in it. He lets it seep, turning to the glorious witcher, who looks at his exhausted, rumpled form in mild amusement.

“You’d make such a good parent,” he yawns, unapologetically but turns his face away as his nose scrunches up. Gods, he wants to climb back into bed. “Unlimited stamina, great for fighting monsters, for fucking, but also for parenting, you’d probably never thought of that— you’re welcome for the enlightenment.”

As if on cue, Alia runs up to hug his legs, Julien stumbling sleepily after, Mx Teddy clutched in his hand. Jaskier has no clue where Alia gets her energy from, some sacrifice she’d given Melitele in her past life for such boundless energy as she tackles him to the ground. “Gods, Alia,” he can’t help but grin at her as she laughs, the little menace getting to her feet as she goes to tackle Geralt. 

Geralt, the witcher, who falls to the ground in a play, letting Alia crawl over him.

The  _ traitor _ .

Jaskier squints at him in faux suspicion and disappointment, his chest warm as he rises to his feet, picking Julien up onto his hip when the toddler reaches up with a grabby hand. “Goodmorning, my love,” he presses a kiss to his forehead as Alia turns and asks to be lifted, too.

He grunts, though gladly picks her up, muttering about his old-man bones as Alia clings to his neck. “You both need a bath,” he makes a show of sniffing the air and scrunching up his face, “stinky babies, stinky stinky babies.”

Geralt looks horrified, his chest puffing as he plays along, “Noo, precious, wonderful babies, deserve to play in the mud outside, don’t you?” 

Oh, fuck that  _ traitor _ . 

“Papa!” Alia squeals in his ear, Geralt, The Betrayer, winces in some sympathy. “Please? Please can we go play in the mud like Mister Witcher said? We—”

“First one to get to the bath gets cream ice from Amos!” He watches in pride as Alia takes Julien’s hand and runs towards the bathroom so they both get the promised prize.

Jaskier sighs, relaxing before giving Geralt a grin. “Menaces, the both of them, every morning, I end up promising to give them cream ice, they’re going to drive me broke, Geralt, I swear to Melitele—” The witcher huffs a laugh as Jaskier continues on his half-hearted tirade, his second cup of coffee downed in minutes, and goes back to the eggs and bacon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme know what ya guys thought <33  
> Your guys' comments inspire me to keep writing 💙💙💙
> 
> Title from "Welly Boots" by The Amazing Devil! I also did change the cat's name to Marlon, a readers of mine's cat's name! <33
> 
> My tumblr's @persony-pepper, come say hi! <33 I rb witcher things and take geraskier writing prompts of all kinds.


	4. A/N

Hello, everyone! I'm putting this on a brief hiatus for ~a week or so while I work on Geralt Whump week!! I'll be updating this around the ninth or the tenth of July. Thank you for your patience, my loves!!

-Pepper.


	5. He's driving me crazy (but I'm into it, I'm kinda into it)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notice: I added a spanking tag! Please stop reading at “Get undressed." if you wish to avoid it! all that happens after the spanking is the aftercare, which starts at Jaskier isn’t sure how long
> 
> The spanking is a BDSM sex scene that geraskier do. No children are harmed.

By the time Jaskier and his three little goblins emerge from their home, it’s late in the morning. Julien dutifully holds Alia’s hand as they walk beside Jaskier, flanked on the other side by Geralt. The decorations for the festival are only just being put up, hours late as if reflecting Jaskier’s own tardiness. (And yes, he’s officially labeling Geralt a goblin after Jaskier had found chuckling at the bard’s newly-washeds babes make a mess of themselves in the mud and Geralt had only (badly) hidden a snicker.)

They stop by Amos’ traven, the old man grumbling as he waves them in, wrapping a shawl tighter around himself. Julien hides behind Geralt’s legs, who walks ever so carefully as he carries a large bowl of ice cream out of the shop, Jaskier tailing after him with stacks of bowls and four popsicles, Alia clutching a bag of spoons.

His students are dutifully sat under the tree Jaskier usually teaches under during the summer months. Alia hands him the bag of spoons, and takes Julien’s hand as they run to take their seat, the two of them settling in with their friends as a chorus of _“Good morning Master Jas!”_ filling the air. His students are too young to pronounce _Jaskier_ , a fact that makes the bard’s heart melt whenever he hears his name shortened.

The class pouts, neat rows of little baby faces so upset that Jaskier scrambles to open his mouth and explain himself, not being able to stand their kicked-puppy-eyes. ”Good morning class!” His voice rings over the space of fifteen people, “I’m so sorry I’m late, my loves! We had a little muddy problem at home,” he squints at the witcher, fifteen heads simultaneously looking at the witcher as he does. “But! I brought cream ice in apology!”

Jaskier knows that, one day, he’ll grow up and figure out a way to deal with children  _ without  _ bribing them with cream ice but today is not that day.

“Come now, grab your bowls and spoons and then,  _ In. A. Line, _ ” he stresses the words to prevent chaos that even a sorceress couldn’t contain, “In a  _ line,  _ and Mister Geralt’ll help you with two scoops of cream ice. Any leftover goes to Mister Geralt’s beautiful horsie, Roach, because she went home and practiced her addition problems without my asking her to!” He’s met with a collective huff and a groan from the older of children, and wonder-filled, curious eyes of the younger children wondering about a horse doing math.

He can’t help a chuckle at that.

“Henry, Fanya, Iva, and Andrik, I’ve popsicles for you here, my loves; Erik, no cutting line! Remember to say please and thank Mister Witcher for helping us out today, everyone!”

~~

He teaches subtraction as his students listen, content on their cold sweets and their attention on the numbers Jaskier scribbles onto parchment, thorough in his explanations and answering each question with detail when it arises.

The bard loses himself to his lesson, the witcher gone off to take care of Roach and replenish his supplies soon after the cream ice fiasco had ended. Jaskier ends the lesson by herding his class to the lake. “Everyone, find someone’s hand to hold! I want you all in a line, my lovelies, we don’t lose anyone! Anyone remember how our trip song goes?”

Horribly off-tune singing fills the air, Jaskier pitching in joyfully as they work their way down the banks of the lake. He helps the children wash their sticky faces and sticky hands, their singing carrying on as they work, a song of the witcher’s victories as the children chant along the chorus, his students erupting into laughs as they yell at the top of their lungs.

_ And oh how the witcher howls at the moon,  _

_ The beast he’s slain as silent as children at noon, _

_ They sing together as they fight in the mud,  _

_ Both so out of tune, our ears would be blood!  _

He fucking adores is job.

~~ 

He’s just done passing out parchments of homework, explaining the last of the questions and shouting, “Stop by anytime you need help, my dears, we’ll be working on writing next week so sbes sure to bring your pens and ink; talk to me if you need anything,” as the children run to help with festival preparations, Julien and Alia shoving their bags into Jaskier’s hands as he calls after them to be safe and be back before supper.

The witcher pushes against the tree he’s been leaning against, giving Jaskier a fright— and no, Jaskier will not be admitting that he yelped, no matter how much anyone could try paying him because he  _ didn’t _ . “Fucking gods, how long’ve you been there?” Geralt only shrugs, a small smile on his face, and comes to stand by him. “Why’re you here anyways, and not—” he waves his hand dismissivly, “doing fun things or something.”  _ Fun things or something, _ has he really grown so old that he doesn’t know what the townsfolk do for fun anymore? He dutifully ignores the thought as he heads home, his childrens’ bags in his hands. 

“Here, let me help,” Geralt takes the bags from him, swinging them over his shoulder with his fingers hooked on their straps as they walk down the dirt path. “Wanted to walk you home.”

Jaskier laughs, a bright, free sound, “Where were you when I was eighteen? What a gentleman, you’d have made an excellent first boyfriend, got stuck with  _ Valdo Marx  _ instead.”

“Here now,” Geralt simply mumbles. And Jasksier’s not quite sure what to say to that, not sure what it means but his cheeks flush anyway and they leave it at that.

“You’re a good teacher, you do good by those kids,” the witcher mutters, trying his awful best to keep the conversation going. Jaskier grins and decides to put him out of his misery. 

“Was trained in Oxenfurt of the seven liberal arts, of course, it only makes sense I share my knowledge, oh Geralt, you should’ve been there, being a student is  _ wild, _ one time, Priscilla and I got  _ piss drunk _ and—” And Geralt actually listens to him, his beautiful chuckle gracing their conversation every once in a while.

~~ 

He’s still chattering away as they walk into Jaskier’s home, bags settled in the kid’s room. 

“Are you hungry?” Jaskier pulls out a pot to set water to boil, trying to light the stove as strong arms wrap around his waist. Scruff scratches his neck, following soft kisses against his skin. Jaskier turns, a lazy grin on his face, Geralt’s arms still wrapped around him. “And here I was calling you a gentleman, you’ve just been trying to get into my pants, haven’t you, you dirty, dirty man.” Cruel Melitele and her braincell-stealing ways. It’s not really  _ Jaskier’s _ fault that Geralt’s smirk makes his knees weak and his mind leak out of his ears.

A small sound escapes his throat as Geralt kisses him, slow and unhurried, one broad hand trailing down his hip to cup Jaskier’s ase, giving it a gentle squeeze that leaves Jaskier moaning into their kiss.

“Bedroom?” Jaskier nods, jumps as Geralt prompts him to, wrapping his legs around the witcher’s waist as he’s walked over to the bedroom, lips still connected as Geralt pushes the door open and kicks it closed behind him.

He’s set down on the bed, and slowly leans back as Geralt leans over him before straightening to striip his tunic off. “You were so good for me lasts night, Jask,” and, poor,  _ poor _ Jasksier can't help but shiver at the nickname, his hand coming to cup the witcher’s neck to pull him back into their kiss, moaning as Geralt nips at his lips, back arching into his touch as the witcher runs his hands down Jaskier’s sides.

“So good for me, wanna be good for you,” the witcher whispers, kissing along Jaskier’s ears, his voice so deep the bard can feel it in his own chest, “what do you need? What do you want?”

_ “Pain.” _ He’s itching for it, for red skin and bruises, to be slapped, spanked, pinched, oh  _ fuck _ , just thinking about it makes him dizzy. Geralt growls, slapping at the inside of his thigh, the sting so blissful he loses himself to it before he’s being pulled up to stand by the collar. “Get undressed. Your word is ‘safeword’ for now.”

Jaskier rushes to strip, only slightly concerned of how much he trusts this man already as he turns to face him, cheeks flushed as he looks at Geralt’s broad chest, taking in details he’d missed last night as the witcher settles comfortably at the edge of the bed.

“Kneel.” The bard lowers himself to the floor, hands by his side as Geralt regards him with heated eyes. He lets himself be examined, flushing under the intensity of the gaze as the witcher unbuttons his breeches, guiding his half hard cock out and giving it a few lazy stokes.

Jaskier’s mouth  _ waters _ at the sight of it, his body unconsciously leaning forward, just the barest bit. Their late-night fumblings from yesterday were  _ nothing _ compared to this, Geralt’s glorious cock slowly worked to hardness as he simply sits there, trailing his eyes over every inch of Jaskier’s skin. Belatedly, he realizes that this is a part of his reward, Geralt putting on a  _ show _ for him, his cock flush as he works his hand over it.

The witcher leans forward, calloused hands cupping Jaskier’s cheek before one slips down to his neck, wrapping around it with the barest squeeze before Geralt lets go and raises his right hand.

Jaskier’s head turns with the impact, a loud slap on his right cheek, before the sting sets in. It is  _ heavenly _ . “Geralt, again,  _ please, _ ” He hits him again, thumb softly rubbing over the irritated skin to soothe it.

“Good, so good for me, Jask, come on, lay over my lap.” He whimpers as Geralt’s large hand splay over the small of his back to help position him, the man’s pants rubbing at Jaskier’s soft skin, though the witcher’s cock presses up against the bard’s stomach. “Look at what you do to me, little lark,” Geralt rumbles, hands kneading the flesh of the bard’s arse, “you alright?”

He has absolutely no control over the words that come out of his mouth, a litany of  _ oh, fuck, yes  _ and  _ please, fuck, more. _ Geralt only chuckles, bringing a hand down on Jaskier’s left asscheek without warning. The bard flinches, a punched out  _ ah _ escaping his lips. How long’s it been since he’s done this? Gods, far too long, he knows. The witcher rubs his hand gently over Jaskier’s skin, soothing the sting in his wake. “Good?” Jaskier can’t answer, breathless from the impact, though they’re only just getting started.

“Jaskier, I need you to answer me. A hand runs through his hair, petting him as he waits for the bard to answer him. “Are you good to continue, Jask?” Jaskier melts into the touch, relaxing.

“Yes. More, Geralt,  _ please _ ,” he whispers, voice hoarse. Giving himself willingly is such an interesting concept. The idea that Geralt would stop this the moment he said his word or grew the slightest bit uncomfortable only makes Jaskier melt into his touch more, arch his back and present himself, begging for another spank.

His witcher doesn’t respond, another smack of the same strength makes Jaskier moan, his cock desperately rutting against nothing. The hand in his hair is back, soothing him. “Shh, little lark, I’ve got you, gonna make this so good for you, Jask.”

The next spank makes Jaskier gasp, pitch forward, and soon enough, Geralt’s smacking his ass at an even pace, not too slow but not quite fast either. It’s  _ perfect, _ soothing, the stings easing into burning, his ass no doubt flushed red. His eyes glaze over, Geralt’s hand splayed over his back to keep him in place as the witcher rains down the pleasurable pain./span>

Jaskier isn’t sure how long, or how many, but soon enough, Geralt’s whispering simple nothings, sword-calloused palm gently rubbing over his ass. His cock is still quite hard, but taking care of it is the least of his needs right now. “Come back to me, Jaskier, that’s good, you were so good for me.” The bard, on the other hand, feels relaxed, adored, pain feels awfully warm, comforting and a reminder that he is safe, cared for.

His eyes feel rather heavy, not in sleep, but in euphoria as Geralt whispers that he’s going to lift Jaskier and set him on the mattress before cuddling him. Geralt’s arms slides behind his knees, the other supporting his shoulder, careful that his pink cheeks aren't sat on his forearm as he lifts the bard up. He tenses in the embrace, and the witcher stops, still murmuring sweet praise, and only walks over to the bed when Jaskier relaxes into the hold.

He’s floating,  _ flying, _ existing and somehow, not made of matter all at once. The witcher leaves once, letting Jaskier know before he goes, and comes back with a glass of water and a salve fo Jasksier’s bottom. He carefully helps Jaskier with the water before rubbing the salve in with gentle hands; it is  _ bliss _ , laying in Geralt’s arms, the soft blanket covering the two of them as they both come back to themselves. Jaskier sighs, wincing as he shifts closer to Geralt, blinking up at him with clear eyes.

“Good?” Jaskier can’t help the bright grin that stretches over his face, the witcher looking so fond as the bard presses a kiss to Geralt’s lips. 

“ _ Perfect.  _ Fuck— if this is what you’re like when you’re not a gentleman, well, I don’t mind too much.” Geralt’s laugh is more of a series of quiet huffs than anything, but they warm Jaskier’s heart so that he fears it’ll simply melt into his chest. 

“You looked pretty, still do, but red with my spanks; can only imagine what your cock would look like after a similar treatment.” And damn him if that doesn’t send a shiver down Jaskier’s spine. 

“Oh don’t leave me hanging, cruel Geralt, we’ll have to find out sometime.” The witcher hums him a promise and simply holds him closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience, sorry this took so long! 
> 
> Yep, Henry, Fanya, Iva, and Andrik are lactose intolerant, that's why they got popsicles <33\. 
> 
> Let me know what you thought! Comments and kudos keep me motivated! <333
> 
> Title from "Kiwi" by Harry Styles.


	6. Falling for You Might be too Easy

Jaskier wakes to a missing Geralt and the sounds of his kids’ excited giggles. The sun’s long set, shimmering lanterns and candle light filter through his window facing the road. They’re nearly done— tomorrow will be the Day of Welcome, then the Day of Apology and Thanks before finally, before the final  _ official _ day, the Day of Remembrance. The rest of the four days are for merry-making and celebration of witcherkind, which really, is an excuse to drink and dance, not that anyone minds.

He wraps a sheer robe around his shoulders after he dresses in cotton trousers, a chemise pulled over his head before he trails the sound out to the front of the house. He smiles, heart warm as he leans against the doorway, door closed beside him to keep the fireflies out. The breeze ruffles Jaskier’s hair as he watches Geralt Julien onto Roach, Alia already sat on her, gently singing to her as she combs her fingers through her mane. Julien, ever the safe boy, wraps his hands around his sister’s waist and clings on tight, an entirely too adorable smile on his face as he grins at Geralt.

He doesn’t understand how the continent calls him a monster, heartless, incapable of emotion, because the man  _ worries _ . Jaskier sees it clearly, the witcher’s arms out in case either child falls, one hand petting Roach down in time with Alia to keep her calm.

Geralt of Rivia is an impossible man if Jaskier ever knew one. He’s intimidating, indeed, two long swords adorned his back, shoulders broad and clothes stretched over thick muscle (How Geralt managess to fight in his ensemble, Jaskier has  _ no idea _ ). And sure, his eyes glow a bit in the dark and he has (cute little) fangs— but Geralt is no monster. Geralt is  _ kind _ , and sweet, and caring, and so fucking smiley around him that it makes Jaskier’s heart  _ hurt _ .

He startles at a small tug to his robe, Aleks’ wide brown eyes staring up at him, a faint blush on his face. The child’s by far the shyest of his students, worrying his lip as Jaskier looks down at him with a gentle smile. “Hello, Aleks! How’re the decorations going? Hopefully Julia’s not being too picky?” The boy smiles at that, a soft curve of his lips as he shakes his head no. “Something about the homework’s giving you trouble, then? Another shake no. While it is cute, it’s not getting him anywhere really. “How can I help you then, my dear?”

“I want—” he looks at the ground, voice timid as he continues. “Wanna thank Mister Witcher for helping us today.” His voice is so quiet Jaskier can barely hear it.

“Go ahead, you can ask to play, too, if you’d like— on that note, do your parents know you’re here, darling?”

“Yes, daddy said,” his voice is matter of fact as he begins his ramble, and Jaskier wonders how he’d ever though he could dislike these adorable little gremlins, “that he’d call for me when supper’s ready or to come home when I’m done, and Pa is helping with the festival but I asked him, too, and he said I was okay as long as daddy knew.” The kid stands with his back straight, proud of himself as he absentmindedly fidgets with the seam of Jaskier’s robe.

“Go on, then.” Wide brown eyes stare up at him as Aleks freezes, hands still as he clutches the fabric of the robe. Jaskier hums faux thoughtfully, “I want to go say hi to Alia and Julien, would you care to accompany me?” He sighs, expression so sad and scared that Aleks steps closer as if to comfort him. “It’s just that,” his voice turns to a whisper, a put-on hesitancy in his voice, “Roach has been giving me the side-eye since she got here and— I must admit, she frightens me a bit.”

A brave sort of expression finds itself on Aleks’ face as he takes Jaskier’s hand into his own. “Don’t worry Mister Jas, I won’t let anything happen to you,” he says, chest puffed out. Geralt’s just helping Alia down when Alek marches the two of them over, still holding onto Jaskier’s hand but significantly more intimidated as he looks up at Geralt, barely two feet away from him.

Roach huffs, tail flicking as she looks at Jaskier— the bard hadn’t been lying, lovely Roach seemed to take more time growing accustomed to adults than children. Alia runs a comb through her fun, an ecstatic grin on his goblins’ face as Julien braids her mane, small hands fumbling. Jaskier doesn’t fucking dare touch Roach, and shows his gremlin how with his own hair, his fringe long enough to cross a strand over two others. Julian’s tongue sticks out in concentration and  _ fuck Jaskier much just combust from how cute he looks. _

He smiles, utterly proud as Julien kisses Roach’s neck with a giggle, grinning down a Jaskier.

“Alright!” He calls, helping Julien down and praying Roach won’t kick him, “Time for dinner, go get cleaned up, my loves, twenty seconds of washing, remember!” He watches fondly as they run back indoors, and when he turns, it’s to Aleks whispering to Geralt, who’s crouched down next to him. The boy digs into his pocket for something, hesitantly holding out what appears to be a slightly-crushed flower for Geralt to take.

The bard catches the tail end of Geralat’s reply, “… put it in my hair?” Aleks blushes, walking behind Geralt to tuck it into the witcher’s leather tie, a small, satisfied smile on his face as he step back before running to Geralt and giving him a quick hug before running home. Jaskier watches as the door slams shut, making sure the boy’s home safe before turning to Geralt. Geralt smiles a small, crooked smile as he approaches Jaskier, leaning in to give him a kiss to the cheek as if they’re together and Gods— doesn’t that make Jaskier’s heart flutter?

“I’ll be in soon,” he mumbles, stepping away “Gotta give Roach a brushing.” Jaskier grips Geralt’s collar, pulling him in for a real kiss, something quick to make his witcher’s knees go weak before stepping back with a wink.

From across the street, Julia scowsl at him and Jaskier, the adult he is, sticks his tongue out at her before he goes back indoors.

Alia and Julien stand, grinning by the table, all the ingredients for a hearty pasta meal lead out on it. “Unsubtle,” he chuckles, looking at Alia as Julien makes grabby hands at him. “Guess tonight’s pasta night, then.” And he can’t help but laugh as his gremlins cheer. 

Of course, the day they make pasta,  _ they don’t have any _ . The process of making more is difficult on the lonesome, but with his children “helping,” the kitchen soon turns into a  _ wreck.  _ Jaskier himself isn’t the most, uh,  _ organized _ of cooks, and with three goblins (Geralt included), helping him, dinner dissolves into  _ madness _ . The water boils over the pot and into the stove, sauce is tipped over as Geralt reaches over Jaskier, all the while Alia sings Fishmonger’s Daughter (quite on key, he's proud to say, though entirely unsurprised. She  _ is _ his daughter after all.)

They all finally settle on the floor, tired and covered with ingredients that should rightfully be in a pot, Julien in Geralt’s lap, Alia leant against the witcher’s shoulder as Jaskier leans against the base of the island. They blink at each other in silence. Jaskier breaks out into giggles, flour-covered clothes and faces streaked with red sauce, he can’t help himself and soon, they’re all laughing, fighting for breath. The bard finally calms, an arm over his stomach as he catches his breath to see Geralt looking at him, something unabashedly fond in his eyes. 

“Alright! Who wants to go to Amos’?” Jaskier croaks out, his eyes trained on amber as a stupid blush rises onto his cheeks.

More cheers erupt in the room and they don't look away from each other. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, this was painful to write my inspiration left today, slammed the door behind it and I was left with PURE DETERMINATION to update this xD. 
> 
> Let me know what you thought!!! Comments are like coke <333


	7. Geralt the Poet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geralt has some things to say so I gave him a chapter. As a lil treat.
> 
> Mentioned CBT. Like, a sentence.

Jaksier is bright. A wildflower in a sea of kikimore guts, untouched by the dark of the night.

And  _ fuck _ Lambert for not taking him for a poet because Geralt’s got  _ skills. _ He smiles to himself, remembering the ocean waves accompanying  _ Lambert, Lambert, what a prick.  _ A masterpiece, even if no one sees that but himself. 

Jaskier wipes at Alia’s mouth, Julien’s eyes crossing as he practices his braid on Geralt’s hair. He has to admit, the kid’s quite good.

…Maybe he’s a little biased, so what?

_ It’s not good to grow attached, Geralt _ , a voice suspiciously like Vesemisr’s rings in his head. He only takes another drink of his ale, Julien curiously peering into the tankard as he sets it down.

“It’s… apple juice.” Julien looks at him, confused.

“No. Beer.” And Geralt can’t help but guffaw at that.

He hums, letting the boy climb into his lap and steal off his plate. There’s a comfortable chatter in the tavern, no awkward silences, no scent of fear. The town’s an anomaly on the continent, appreciating him for saving them instead of driving him out for his glowing eyes and white hair. Even going as far to  _ adore _ him, throw him a festival like he’s some hero. And Jaskier— Jaskier is even stranger, making Geralt open and soft and  _ trusting _ .

_ It’s not safe to trust, especially not humans.  _ Not that Jaskier is entirely human, ears pointed just barely, eyes like blue sky struck by lighting, and his kids aren’t much different.

Amos has Jaskier sing for them, shoving a lute into his hands as if they have a backup for whenever the bard comes to eat at the tavern. He smiles as Julien bounces along to the song his father belts out, Alia dancing along with the bard, chating choruses along with the rest of the traven— not that they’re entirely…  _ appropriate _ , but he can tell Jaskier’s trying, sticking to songs that are bawdy with euphemism rather than explicitly. He can’t help but snort are the bard sings out— __

_ with his long fol-the-riddle-i-do right down to his knee _

—it’s entirely ridiculous and he loves it.

While Geralt could never live a sedentary life, he finds his mind wandering, late nights with Jaskier spent whispering, listening, Alia learning how to ride Roach as Julien perfects his braiding. He imagines teaching alongside Jaskier, self defense and sword skills after writing practice. Oh and pissing Julia off to no end by getting  _ married—  _ huh. Calling Alia and Julien his  _ cubs— _ it gives him gooseflesh. He doesn’t know where that thought’s come from, but he finds that it won’t go away as Jaskier spins in the air, landing lightly on his feet, giving him a brief wink before singing on. If Yenn could see him now, pining after a pretty boy and wanting cubs of his own. She’d fucking cackle, or curse him, either one, can’t always tell with her. 

Julien stand, making grabby hands for his father, and Jaskier gladly obliges, singing  _ The Song of the White wolf  _ as he takes the boy and sets him onto his shoulders, letting small hands dig into his hair before returning to his lute, careful in his movements as to not tip Julien over. 

He remembers himself at their age, abandoned by his mother when he was Julien’s, half-dead through the Trial of Grasses at Alia’s. Fuck, he can still remember, muscles spasmsing, begging someone, fucking  _ anyone _ for it to stop as he’d kicked at his restraints, potions coursing through his veins to make him less human and more beast. He downs the last of his ale as he watches Jaskier, surrounded by an adoring audience, his children included. 

It’s good. So good, to see the two smiling, happy, not broken like he’d already been at their age, both in body and mind, knows how scared and alone he’d been, even with his brothers. Hell, they’d all been scared and alone, they’d just been scared and alone together.

These days, he’s just lonely, spit on, stoned (not in a good way, at that). Whores are the only touch he gets, and even then it’s not like Jaskier, who’s so entirely trusting of him, smelling so strongly of  _ want _ that it makes Geralt’s head spin. He watches as Jaskier collapses back into the booth opposite to Geralt, flushed, and entirely happy, ale dripping down his chin as he chugs it. Geralt wants to run his tongue up his neck, taste the salt of his sweat and the malty flavour of the drink that drips into his doublet—

“Papa, can Julien and I stay at Aleks’ house tonight, please,  _ please please please pleasepleaseplease. _ ” He doesn’t know why Jaskier bothers hesitating, with eyes that big and watery, and lips pushed out in a near  _ comical _ pout, he knows the bard’ll say yess.

Jaskier sighs, cracking a tired smile. “Well, I don’t see why not— let me go talk to his parents, stay put, okay?” They nod enthusiastically, Julien jumping from where he stands, excited, Alia grinning ear to ear, a tooth missing in her smile. They’re entirely too cute. Duly, he realizes why Yenn so craves to have children, they’re little fuckers, but they’re the most loveliest,  _ liveliest  _ creatures Geralt’s ever met apart from Jaskier.

“Alright, they said yes. You  _ must _ behave, alright? Listen to what they say and be polite unless they’re saying or doing bad things, if they do— you both know where to kick. Scream, and I’ll be there, alright?” They nod, as if having heard the speech a million times. Geralt idly wonders who’d hurt Jasksier to make him wary of people he should trust at this point. The children are off, trailing after Aleks and his fathers after giving Jaskier goodnight kisses.

Jaskier leans back in his seat, relaxing with a small huff and a smile. “Hi,” he mumbles, eyes bright. 

Geralt hums, a low sound in his chest. “What? No kiss for me?” Jaskier laughs, a beautiful, melodic thing.

“All you had to do is ask, my dear,” and suddenly, he’s being pulled by his collar, soft lips pressed against his own, the kiss unabashed in a tavern of people in a small town. It pleases something rabid in his chest, Jaskier kissing him in front of all these people, like he’s being  _ claimed _ . The bard parts with flushed skin and a crooked grin.

“And if I ask you to go home, strip, and let me flick your cock, what would you say to that, bard?” His voice low, practically a growl as he watches Jaskier’s eyes darken.

  
“All you’d have to do is ask.” (And Geralt thrills at the fact that Jaskier lets him call the place  _ home. _ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ik they're moving fast and falling hard by i like it that way lmao
> 
> Let me know what you thought!! <3333


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this here's the mild cbt chapter (aka impact play because thats what it is not legit cock and ball torture, it's soft not _torture_ lmao)!!
> 
> Skip to He realizes he’s pa if you wanna avoid it! Jaskier briefly thinks about how he could grow to love geralt during that part, and some sexy timese, ofc, nothing more!!
> 
> Mentioned passing out on cock for a sentence, as in, breath play. starts at no siree— ends at chapped lip

Jaskier isn’t quite sure how he got here, sprawled out over his bed, back pressed against the cold wooden headboard, heady with lust as a ridiculously sexy witcher prowls closer to him.

He’s not complaining, not as lips drag up his neck, nip against his jaw as Geralt comes to straddle his thighs and oh, _ Geralt sat in his lap, isn’t that something he wants to remember till the end of Time.  _ Jaskier’s quite sure witcher’s can’t flush, but Geralt’s fucking glowing in the dull room of the light, eyes alight with such  _ want _ that it makes Jaskier keen— doesn’t remember the last time someone’s looked at him with such utter…  _ adoration _ .

The bard shivers as calloused hands trail down his side, a sigh escaping past his lips He doesn’t know what they are, hell he’s barely known Geralt for two nights but good  _ Gods _ , when has time ever kept him from falling in love? He’s a lover of all things, of all people, surely, Geralt, sweet, brave Geralt, is no exception to that.

Only, he kind of is, isn’t he? He’s a bard, flighty in his love, more enamored by the idea of love than truly falling in love but— but he can imagine a future with Geralt. It’s new, and it makes him dizzy just thinking about it, early mornings with soft kisses , swimming in the lake on sunny afternoons, Julien on Jaskier’s shoulders wrestling with Alia on Geralt, and late nights of touching—

Jaskier groans as Geralt’s fingers dig into his ass, still sore from their play only hours earlier. “Pretty little bird, Jaskier, I’m going to make you sing, would you like that? Hurting your cock till it’s red and weeping?”

Entirely filthy, the way the words roll off his tongue, promises that bring tears to Jaskier’s eyes as he mutters a small  _ please. _

He watches as Geralt sits back, his own lips parted and red from worrying them. Amber eyes drag over him, lingering on peaked nipples and coarse hair before trailing down to Jaskier’s hardening cock. He feels raw, so incredibly vulnerable under Geralt’s gaze and yet, entirely comfortable. He likes being seen like this, cherished like he’s fucking  _ art _ .

“Okay?” And what has Jaskier done to deserve this man, large hands wrapping around his waist, fingers meeting in the middle— the feeling of Geralt holding him, feeling so utterly small and cared-for forces a whimper out of his throat, lips parting as as he leans forward to kiss his lover.

“You’re so good to me,” he whispers, a confession between lips so close that they brush with each word. Geralt grins a lovely half-grin, dimples digging into his cheeks before he presses their lips together.

“You deserve it, songbird,” he mumbles, a hand wrapping around his cock. “You ready?” Jaskier’s hips jerk, breath stuttering as Geralt swipes the pad of his thumb over his cock and it’s answer enough. The witcher’s chuckle reverberates in his chest and—

“Geralt!” He yelps, hands coming to cover over his crotch as he’s looked on with worry— only the barest crease of the witcher’s brows indicating it.  _ Okay, so this is sort of terrifying. _ And yet, his cock twitches with the pain— it only takes Geralt gently massaging his balls to get him pliant again, entirely trusting.

“Do you want to stop?”

“Fuck  _ no, _ Geralt, I’ll fucking die and surely, you’d prefer me—” his body seizes, a gasp leaving him breathless as Geralt flicks at his balls and it’s a moan that accompanies Jasksier’s flinch this time _. _

“Such a pretty little lark, look at how pink your cock is, love fucking wet you are, Jask.  _ Gorgeous _ .” Geralt strokes up, and before Jaskier can fucking warn the man, he’s spilling over his fist, cheeks red in humiliation—

_ “Geralt _ ,” Oh and  _ is that him? _ His voice so whiny? So needy? He doesn’t want this to end, not so soon— with Geralt eyeing him hungrily, licking Jaskier’s cum off his hand, he’s not worried it will.

“It’s okay, I didn’t say you needed permission.” Lips are pressed back against him, indecent moans escaping Jaskier’s lips as he licks into Geralt’s mouth, tasing his own spend. “Gonna make you cum again, lark.”

Jaskier squeaks an utterly embarrassing sound as he’s pulled forward by his legs, back flat against the soft mattress. Geralt kneels between his legs as he reaches for the clove oil, thick fingers circling his hole, before pushing against it.

His mouth goes dry as Geralt’s finger presses inside him, rubbing against his walls and  _ oh-that-spot-there-fuck-yes-again-Geralt-please _ . Jaskier’s soon stuffed with three fingers, and true to Geralt’s promise, feels his cock twitch with an oncoming orgasm. Only to have hand squeeze around the base of his cock,  _ “Not yet, Jask, be good for me.” _ And what can Jaskier do, protests given away to pointless whimpers as Geralt works him back to hardness.

It’s utter  _ bliss _ when Geralt finally pushes his cock into him, fucking  _ hours _ (Geralt laughs, says it’s barely been twenty minutes and Jaskier  _ knows  _ that can’t be right) of being milked, his cock untouched though it’s now drooling from where it lies against the crook of his thighs.

Geralt is quick in the thrust of his hips, entirely brutal in a way that makes Jaskier moan, the witcher’s balls slapping against Jaskier’s sore ass. He feels himself slipping, safe under his lover’s care, painful in just the right way, eyes glossing over—

—breath stuttering in surprise when Geralt flicks his cock, jacking it off with just the pre, barely slick enough for his hand to slide over it.

And  _ fuck _ , it only serves to push him further into his subspace, feels Geralt’s thumb gliding across his tongue, lips parted and slack as he finds himself floating, sounding aborted grunts as Geralt keeps flicking his cock, his balls, quicker, harder— he angles his cock just right and pinches at his cock-head and  _ fuck _ .

He realizes he’s passed out when he wakes to Geralt laying beside him, an arm swung over Jaskier’s hips as he whispers things that he can’t really hear. Not that it matters, he can’t understand a word, lost to a haze, cum drying over his skin. He feels a soft fur drape over him, Geralt’s warmth blissful as his eyes flutter again.

Jaskier gives in to the feeling of safety, held against Geralt’s side as a pair of lips press against his temple. He doesn’t bother to fight when sleep comes to claim him.

~~ 

It’s an ungodly hour in the morning when someone knocks at the door, lantern-light glowing in the window. Jaskier groans, hugging Geralt’s chest closer to his own, hiding in his face into his witcher’s hair.

“Jask,” he mumbles and fucking  _ hell _ , can Jaskier’s libido not take a day off? “Lemme go see.”

“Mm, no,” he murmurs, nuzzling closer, Geralt’s head nestled in his neck. “Don’t go, ‘s not worth it.”

“Jaskier,” and it’s entirely annoying how cute Geralt sounds when he’s amused, Jaskier is not letting him win this, no siree—

“I’ll let you suck my cock till you pass out later.” Ah,  _ damn. him. _ for knowing all of Jaskier so fucking well, his cock giving an interested little twitch at the thought of going unconscious with a witcher’s cock deep down his throat.

Chapped lips press against his and Jaskier smiles into the kiss, “You drive a hard bargain, Master Witcher—” Lips pull away from his before he can react, Geralt on his feet beside the bed, arms drawn up in fists as someone opens their bedroom door.

“Jaskier? For heaven’s sake, you monsterfucker, hand over the witcher and—” Julia stops in her tracks, uninvited in their home as she stares into their bedroom, a naked witcher ready to fight her as Jaskier  _ luxuriates _ in his bed, his lips swollen and body covered by soft furs.

“Well, good morning, dear,” he says, arms splayed lazily as he looks at her through half-lidded eyes. “What brings you here, my  _ lover _ and I were just sleeping.”

It’s fucking  _ hard _ to keep from bursting into laughter as she turns red.

“You bewitched a man into your bed within two days, Jaskier, does not make you lovers.” She turns to Geralt with a huff straining to keep her eyes to his face instead of his…  _ everything.  _ “Geralt of Rivia, your presence is required to prepare you for the festival, you will be  _ properly _ ,” she drags the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip in suggestion.

Jaskier  _ gags _ .

She ignores him but sobers up and continues on, “taken care of by the townsfolk, a bath and clothes await you along with other things.”

Geralt grunts, tugs on his tunic and trousers from last night, and to Jaskier’s ever-singing heart, bends down to give him a brief kiss.

_ “ _ I expect you to keep your promise, my dear!” He calls out, and Geralt only huffs his adorable laughs as he follows Julia out the door.

Jaskier cuddles back into his bed, stroking up his cock to bring himself off in an early-morning wank as he thinks, not for the first time, that he could truly, possibly fall in love with the man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY I updated this omg the impact play was so fuCKING hard to write, dude, i had such a hard time on it.
> 
> Let me know what you thought! Comments let me know that you're enjoying this trainwreck lmao. Also, may or may not write jask passing out on g's cock, we'll see xD
> 
> Comments keep me inspired to write so if ya want more sooner,,,,, lol, toss a comment to your writer to let me know you're enjoying this

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr's @persony-pepper, come say hi! <33 I rb witcher things and take geraskier writing prompts of all kinds.


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